


The Satisfaction of Curiosity

by WhatLocked



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: After that is there anything else worth tagging?, Dragon/Elf sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-03 00:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11520273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatLocked/pseuds/WhatLocked
Summary: All his life, Sherlock had heard stories about adragon who lived in Bartholomew Mountain.These stories were always dismissed by his brother as ravings of a fanciful mind.As Sherlock grew older, so did his curiosities until one day, when his curiosity grew too much, he decided to find out for himself if the stories held any truth.Cue, Dragon!John.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kjanddean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjanddean/gifts).
  * Inspired by [ART: The One With The Elf Who Was Too Curious For His Own Good](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9991997) by [kjanddean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjanddean/pseuds/kjanddean). 



> This work was inspired by the fantastic art work, The One With The Elf Who Was Too Curious For His Own Good, by kjanddean.
> 
> If you haven’t seen it, check it out at http://archiveofourown.org/works/9991997/chapters/22308416?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_116845449
> 
> If you have seen it, check it out again!
> 
> NTW

~~~~~~~~~~

John circled the group below him, tired of the skirmish.  It had been three days already.  All he had wanted was food.  It wasn’t like he had depleted the village of all of its live stock.  Just a few cows and a sheep, which he had regretted the instant he had swallowed it.  Wool always left him with heartburn.

Now he was paying for it with arrows hissing through the air at him, which was quite ridiculous.  What did those puny humans think an arrow was going to do against his armour like scales anyway?  

Normally, he had the utmost respect for humans, despite their irrational fear of dragons.  As a general rule, they were no threat to him, and apart from appropriating the odd cow or horse (and when desperate, sheep) every month or two, he was no threat to them.  In regards to food, humans were worse than sheep and too small to worry about.  They barely touched the sides.

But now, now they were just irritating, and to add to the tedium, they had dragged the elves into their battle.  Elves were worse than humans.  Elves were arrogant and many in number.  This fight could go on for weeks.  Months even!  

John opened his mighty jaws and let out a roar of frustration.  As usual, the humans took this the wrong way and scuttled away in fear.  The elves, on the other hand, let out a battle cry and then from beyond the trees, rolled out something that John had never seen before.

Below him, surrounded by a dozen or so elves, was a large contraption on wheels, mounted by a rather large spike.  

Curious, John flew lower, to get a closer look.  This was his mistake.  The second he was within a reasonable distance, the spike was set aflame and hurtling through the air towards him.  

With another roar, John turned to flee but was too slow.  The flaming spike shot through his wing, the soft membrane too fragile to penetrate the piercing point and also not fire proof.  Within seconds of the harpoon passing through his wings, half of his wing was aflame and essentially useless.  His other wing was unable to compensate and before long, John was on a speeding path towards the earth below him.  

From such a height, and going at the speed he was, chances of surviving were slim.  

The last thing he experienced was hitting the ground, snout first and with an almighty _crack_ sounding in his ears, everything went away.

~o~

Throughout the years, tales would be told of how the elves vanquished the dragon.  Songs of praise would be sung in their honour and as is the way of stories and legends, they grow over time, becoming more than what they actually were.  

This was such the case of the day that the Dragon was killed on Bartholomew Mountain.


	2. Chapter 1 - The Beginning Sparks of Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's curiosity of Dragons begins, as does Mycroft's determination to rid his brother of such a fanciful notion.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Mycroft.  What’s a dragon?”  Mycroft looked up from where he was rubbing ointment on his brother's knee.

“Is that why you were trying to climb the city walls.  Again?” he asked looking into his brother's eyes.  They were grey today.  The colour they became when the boy was curious, and Sherlock was indeed a curious elf.  More so than the other elves his age.

Sherlock answered by not answering at all.  It was a trait of his whenever he was caught doing something he was not supposed to be doing.  He would cross his little arms across his narrow chest and frown at nothing in particular.  Especially not at the person who had called him out.

Mycroft let out a small sigh and continued to treat the graze up his brother's leg.  “It is a story, Sherlock,” he said, finally answering Sherlock's question, knowing it would be the only way to stop his brother from sulking.  “Fanciful imaginings of those with too much wine in their bellies and not enough sense in their heads.”

The answer seemed to bring Sherlock out of his sulk and he let out a sigh far too weary for a boy only four years of age.

Mycroft assumed that was the end of the discussion.  

~o~

“I don’t understand how we could possibly dismiss the existence of dragons, when so many different races, from all over Londone, and beyond, have mentioned them in some form or another.”

Mycroft looked up from the scroll he was reading ‘ _Elves & Dwarves: A survey of interspecies trade of goods and services’_ to see his brother coming towards him with several scrolls of his own bundled in the crook of one arm and a tablet tucked under his other arm.

A silent sigh left Mycroft’s mouth.  This again.  It had been nine years since Sherlock had first asked about dragons and at the time Mycroft thought he had sorted it out.  End of discussion.  

He had been wrong.  Not something he experienced often.

“Why do we not have a team dedicated to more research on the matter.  The most recent information, that I could find, was over a hundred years old.  The elves killed a dragon at Bartholomew Mountain with a spear of fire.  That is it.  Nothing more.”

Mycroft looked as the scrolls tumbled from Sherlocks arms to the table top and then cringed as the tablet was unceremoniously dumped next to them.  That particular tablet was over a thousand years old.  He didn’t want to have to explain to the archive elders that the text (which was undoubtedly removed from the archives without permission) was broken because his brother had a penchant  for acting like a small child.

“We don’t have a team, brother, because dragon’s are not real.”

Sherlock went to open his mouth to argue, but Mycroft got in first.  “Stories, Sherlock.  That is all they are.  Something you are far too old to be worrying about, don’t you think.”

At that, Sherlock sent a glare at his brother, turned away and stormed out of the room, leaving Mycroft the task of returning what was stolen from archives.”

~o~

“I suppose you have heard?” 

Mycroft didn’t bother to hide the sigh that left his mouth.  He was far too tired to be dealing with an unrightfully smug brother.  Not after the political mess he had just had to clean up.  Plus it was a rhetorical question.  After all, that was the mess he had just sorted.

“Dragons, spotted over by Baskerville.”  With a delighted smile, Sherlock slid of the desk, where he had been perched as he waited for his brother to return to his office.

“There were no dragons, Sherlock” Mycroft corrected as he made his way to his desk, sinking into his chair.  God, he had a headache. 

“An entire village saw them, Mycroft.  You can’t dispute that.”  Sherlocks smug look was turning into a frown of stubborn determination.  

“Yes, Sherlock, I can.  I have just spent the past several hours doing just that.”

“An _entire village,_ Mycroft” Sherlock spat.

“Drugged” Mycroft returned, almost feeling petty enough to spit the word back at his brother.  Instead he kept his tone calm and controlled.  “A disgruntled apothecary deposited hallucinogenics into the water supply.  What the entire _entire village_ saw, was in fact dragonflies.”

With a barely contained pout, Sherlock stood up and left Mycroft’s office, slamming the door shut.  

Mycroft had been putting up with this dragon business for fifteen years.  He was certain Sherlock would have gotten over it by now.  He only hoped that if the idea didn’t die down soon, he would stop pestering Mycroft about it.  After all, he had other problems to worry about, like how a dwarf from Belgrave, in the West was claiming that she had proof that a faun had sired the child the queen was currently carrying.

~o~

“This has got to stop” Mycroft all but shouted as he paced at the end of his brothers bed.  The healer had been in to wrap Sherlocks fractured bones and treat the gashes up along his ribs.  “You are in your twenty-seventh year” he continued.  “It is time to give up your fanciful notions of mythical creatures.”  He knew his brother was high on opioids to help with the pain and was probably barely cognisant of what was being said, but he didn’t care.  Mummy and father had heard of Sherlocks recent escapades, from as far as Musgrave and were on their way back to Bakeris as they spoke, cutting their dancing trip short.  “And what, may I ask, made you think of leaving the city alone, in the middle of spring?  The wolves are feral this time of year.”

Sherlock moved his head tentatively so he could glare at Mycroft with the eye that wasn’t covered by a bandage.  “Before she died, Soo Lin said…”

“Yes, that she and her brother used to smuggle dragon hides in from the East when she was younger.  That was found to be a scam, if you had bothered to look any further into it.”

A _pfft_ left his brother's mouth and he let his head roll to the left so he didn’t have to look at Mycroft anymore.  

Mycroft sighed, again.  This obsession with his brother was going to get him killed.  Either that or the stress of it was going to kill Mycroft.  Either way, one of the Holmes brothers was going to die an early death and all because Sherlock couldn’t let childish notions die, just like every other elf in the city, over the age of eight had done.

What was it going to take to get his brother to stop.

 


	3. Chapter 2 - When Dying Embers Flare Once More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when Sherlock finally accepts that there are no dragons, a visitor to the city sees him rethinking everything again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Drugs had been a part of Sherlock's life for the better part of eight years.  They had made the noises stop and the visions fade away.  

After his brush with death when he was twenty-seven, Mycroft had made it his personal goal to find every piece of evidence disclaiming the existence of dragons.  After a while, it had become annoying but obvious and while Sherlock couldn’t completely dismiss the idea that dragons had existed at one point, he could concede that they were probably extinct now.  This seemed to appease Mycroft and they let the matter drop.

The only problem was that for twenty-seven years, discovering the existence of dragons had been Sherlock's life goal.  Now that he was convinced that there was no longer anything to find, he was left adrift.  

That was when he discovered  Ryberry leaf.  

The following eight years had been the best and worst years of his life.  

They were the best because he didn’t need a purpose or a goal.  He had sweet oblivion to fall into and all it took was a suck on his pipe.  

They were the worst eight years because his brain was left dormant.  It wasn’t needed for anything other than basic survival.  Eat, drink, eat (occasionally), smoke, sleep, repeat.  This meant that when he wasn’t high, his unused brain took longer to start, leaving him as uselessly idiotic and slow as the rest of the populace.

Then there had been the multiple healers his brother had dragged him to in order to eradicate his new addiction, but none of them worked.  

“ _Dragons don’t seem so bad now, do they brother_ ” Sherlock had slurred somewhat smugly as yet another healer deemed his case as hopeless.

Eventually though, his brother found something to replace the drugs. The new distraction came in the form of an elf.  He wasn’t extraordinary by any means, especially not to look at.  Pleasant, but not extraordinary.  But he was interesting.  Not that Sherlock ever told him so.  Instead, he belittled him and turned every theory he had on its head and dumped it over him like a bucket of cold water.  

Lestrade, the elf in question, never seemed to mind though.  He grumbled a bit and on occasion pulled Sherlock up if he was a bit too much of an arse, but in general, he accepted Sherlock for who he was.  Brash, rude, impatient and very arrogant.  

This was a novelty for Sherlock.  Growing up he had been an outsider, too intelligent even for an elf.  Not to mention that his social skills were practically non-existent. The drugs had just alienated him even further.  But Lestrade didn’t seem to mind Sherlocks Sherlockiness.  He had, in fact, laughed at some of the things that Sherlock had said and Sherlock accepted him as well because he brought with him, something wonderful. 

Puzzles.

If something went wrong in the realm of Londone, Lestrade and his small army investigated the problem.  Murder, theft, blackmail, poaching, trespassing, vandalism.  If someone could complain about it, Sherlock could solve it.  Sometimes, if he found it too boring, he refused to bother with it, but most times he threw himself into it in order to solve the problem before Lestrade and his elves could.

Unfortunately, working with Lestrade also meant working with other elves.  

There was Hooper.  For some reason, she had taken an instant liking to Sherlock.  Too much of a liking if Lestrade was to be believed.  Sherlock had refused to solve the case they were working on when Lestrade had suggested he start the courting ritual with the mousy looking Necro Magister.  The fact that he wasn’t even remotely interested hadn’t stopped the woman from trying to engage in acts of socialisation with Sherlock.  If she hadn’t been so knowledgable in her craft, he would have avoided her completely.

Then there was Anderson, quite possibly the most foolish elf to have ever existed.  Sherlock was certain he was part troll. 

And then one day, there was Stamf.  Stamf was a travelling elf.  He moved from one elven city to the next, teaching new healing remedies.  Sherlock had been introduced to Stamf because on the way to their city, Bakeris, he had been approached by a band of goblins and had all his personal effects stolen, which included all of his healing supplies.

“There was a new salve that had been developed, over in Kerr.  It works wonders on burns.  Heals them practically overnight” Mike said, lamenting over the loss of his possessions.

“Burns a big problem in Kerr?” Lestrade asked casually.  This was a sign that he had gained all the information he believed was available and would now settle into menial conversation with the round, happy elf.  To be honest, Sherlock had never seen a fat elf and at first, he had been somewhat interested.  Now the man was just boring.  At least, that was until he uttered his next words.

“Recently, yes.  A group of young elves went out hunting a few moon cycles back.  When they returned, three of them had been badly injured, with burns on their arms and back.  They claimed they had stumbled across a dragon and it attacked them.”

At Stamf’s words, Sherlock's head shot up.  “Clearly they had indulged in too much wine.  Dragons no longer exist.”

Stamf turned his attention from Lestrade to Sherlock.  “Interesting choice of words, that.  _No longer exist_.”

“Well, clearly, at one stage they did” Sherlock scoffed, preparing himself for the usual argument that he had had with his brother.  Often.  

Once again, the round man surprised him.

“What makes you think that they still don’t?”

For a few brief seconds, Sherlock was speechless.  That was not the response he had been expecting. Eventually, he found his voice. “It has been over a hundred years since the last one was killed.  There has been no evidence, other than a few alcohol or drug fuelled hallucinations, to indicate otherwise.  Dragon’s are rather large creatures, not easy to miss.”

Stamf offered a small smile.  “None of us have ever seen an Oliphant, yet we know they exist” he answered and then turned back to Lestrade to continue discussing boring things that were most certainly _not_ dragons.

~o~

Sherlock spent the next few days considering Stamf’s words and the more he considered them the more he felt old curiosities creeping back.  This was why one night his brother found him in the archive rooms with every scroll and tablet that even mentioned the word dragon, spread out in a wide circle around him.

“Oh, not this again” his brother bemoaned.  “I thought you had finally realised that this endeavour was pointless.”

Sherlock refused to look up from the text he was perusing via stone light and instead chose to ignore his brother. 

“Pack these away, Sherlock” his brother commanded when he realised Sherlock was not going to answer him.  

“Or what?  You’ll go get mummy?”

“This is ridiculous, Sherlock.  There is no such thing as dragons.”  The last word came out as a hiss while Mycroft tried his hardest to remain calm and rational.

“There were sightings, just on the other side of Bartholomew Mountain” Sherlock announced without looking up from the scroll in his lap.  “Not that long ago.”

“Drunks and fools” Mycroft intoned, already tired of this conversation.  “Imagination ran away with them.  Or they are after a few brief moments of fame.”

“I suppose the burns to their bodies were imagined as well.”

At his brother's silence, Sherlock finally looked up.  “It is just research, Mycroft.”

“We all know where research led last time.”

“No, that was a lack of research.  I would have thought that that would have taught you, not to take this away from me.”

Sherlock took note of the grief stricken look on Mycroft’s face and then turned his attention back to the map of Bartholomew Mountain, the last place dragons were seen.  Until recently.  He was so busy studying the piece that he didn’t hear his brother depart.


	4. Chapter 3 - Beyond the Wall, Along the Path, Through The Trees & Under the Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock leaves Bakeris and Heads for Bartholomew Mountain. What he finds is not quite what he was expecting.

~~~~~~~~~~

This was Sherlock's third attempt and he was certain this time that he would be successful.  Ever since that night in the archive room, his brother, the big nosed, interfering prat that he was, had decided to have his men follow Sherlock to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid.  Sherlock scoffed.  He never did anything _stupid_.  Uncoordinated, unplanned and unorthodox, but never _stupid_.

Finally, he had managed to shake his brother's men, losing them in the Rustling Gardens and had made his way to the Eastern gates to the city.  It would mean a few extra days travelling, but everyone was expecting him to go out the Northern gates.  

Silently, he moved through the night and once he reached the gates, he travelled along for a few meters before finding the loose panel that no one but himself and a few forest dwellers knew about.  Gently, so as to make minimal noise, he manoeuvred the panel to the side and slid out of the city limits and into the wild, before silently placing the panel back.  When he turned back towards the trees he was faced with a very angry looking Lestrade, blocking his way.

“Did you honestly think that you were the only one that knew about the panel?” Lestrade asked.

“Of course not” Sherlock scoffed, covering up the surprise that Lestrade also knew of it.

“Yeah, you did.  Just like you thought no one would think to check the Eastern gates for you.”

“Well, clearly, Lestrade, you are a much smarter elf than I gave you credit for.  Now, if you don’t mind, I need to be off.”

Sherlock made to move past Lestrade, but the elf stopped him with a hand to his chest. “This is suicide, Sherlock,” he said.

“Nonsense” Sherlock replied.  “I am fully aware of the dangers and this time I am prepared to deal with them” and he pulled his grey woollen cloak back to reveal a bow, a sword and a knife attached to various parts of his body.  “Plus there are several poisons in my rucksack, so if you don’t mind” and again he made to move forward, only to be stopped once more.  An impatient huff left his nostrils.

“And what if you find what you are looking for?”

Sherlock had thought of that, but then pushed the problem to the back of his mind to deal with at a later time.  “I only want to look.  Observe from a distance” he told Lestrade in the most placating voice he could muster.

Lestrade just gave a resigned shake of his head.  “If I drag you back now, you will just find another way out, won’t you?”

A victorious grin spread across Sherlocks face.

“It is a new moon tonight” Lestrade stated and Sherlock rolled his eyes at the non-sequitur.

“Yes, that is why I chose tonight.  Less light to be seen in .”

“You have a full moon cycle, Sherlock” Lestrade continued, ignoring Sherlocks petulance.  “If you are not back by then, we are coming after you.  Understand?”

Sherlock was suddenly speechless.  He hadn’t suspected that Lestrade would allow this, let alone give him enough time to carry out his research.  “My brother will notice I am missing in the morning.  He will send his men after me straight away.  Which is why I need to leave now, so I have a chance to put as much distance between us as possible.”

Lestrade lowered his hand from where it had been resting on Sherlocks chest since the first time he had stopped the younger elf from leaving.  “I’ll talk him round.”

Sherlock couldn’t stop the snort from exiting his nose.  “Your ambition is very admiral, Lestrade but all the queens horses couldn’t stop Mycroft from doing something he put his mind to.”

“I have my ways” was the only answer the other elf gave.  

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and really studied lestrade for the first time since meeting him.  It was as he cocked his head to the side, a sign that clues were coming together, when Lestrade pushed on his shoulder.

“Go on, get going before I change my mind.”

Sherlock decided to leave the Lestrade puzzle for when he returned.  He had more important things to do.  Like leaving Bakeris before Lestrade really did change his mind.  

“Twenty-eight days” Lestrade called as Sherlock hurried off into the night.  Sherlock just raised a hand in a semblance of goodbye and disappeared into the trees.

~o~

It took two weeks, two days and one night to get to Bartholomew Mountain and along the way there had been difficulties.  Wolves; sinking swamps; thick, thorny vines trying to entangle him and days without water, but eventually he made it.  Sherlock had left the thick of the forest two days previous and had then travelled through a thin smattering of trees watching as the mountain grew closer and closer.

As he neared Bartholomew Mountain, he realised that there were less and less wild life and the forest seemed to grow eerily quiet.  Somehow, he found this comforting.

It wasn’t long before he came to a clearing.  To the left was a large lake.  Every now and then, the surface rippled as fish got too close, but other than that it was still.  To the right was the base of the mountain, and in the base was a large cave, and in the mouth of that cave was a pixie.  A little, old, lavender pixie.

“Well, dear, don’t stand in the shadows all evening just staring.  It’s not decent” the pixie said.

Carefully, Sherlock stepped from the shadows, into the moonlight.  

“That’s much better” the pixie said with a smile.  “Now, you look like you could do with a spot of tea.  Why don’t you come on in and I’ll set some to boil.  I’ve just made a batch of rock cakes if you’re hungry, dear.  You look like you could do with some feeding up.  Hardly anything to you” and with that, she turned and flittered into the cave.

Deciding that he had come this far and survived, Sherlock followed the small creature into the cave.  Once inside he saw that there were two tunnels.  One that went down and to the right and one that went up and to the left.  

“This way, dear” came the pixie’s voice from the right and he turned and headed in that direction.

Before long Sherlock found himself sitting in a small but cozy room with a cup of tea in hand and a plate of cakes in front of him.”

“So, tell me, what brings a pretty little elf like you to my mountain?” 

“My name is Sherlock” Sherlock offered, trying not to sound offended at being called a pretty little elf, especially by something so small it could easily be crushed in his hand.  “And I have come looking for something.”

“It is lovely to meet you Sherlock.  I’m Hudders.  And was it something particular you were looking for, or just something?”

Sherlock took a sip of his tea and then placed the cup on the table next to the plate of cakes.  “I’m looking for a dragon” Sherlock stated, looking Hudders in the eye, daring her to tell him that he had wasted his time.

That wasn’t what happened.

“Oh, that would be John you are after then.  He’ll be asleep now, so you may as well eat your cakes while you wait for him to wake up.”

Sherlock just stared at the pixie as she drank her own tea.  “You know the dragon?” he asked not only in awe that she knew the creature, but lived next to him and didn’t even look a bit warm, let alone roasted to a crisp.

“Of course I do” Hudders answered simply.  “My husband wasn’t a very nice pixie, so he made him disappear.”

“The dragon ate your husband?”

At this Hudders let out a little laugh.  “Of course not” she said with a a dismissive wave of her hand.  “A pixie isn’t worth the effort of bothering to eat.  It’d be like you eating an ant.  No, John, the dear that he is, used him as a toothpick after he had devoured a pack of orcs that were headed for Kerr.”

Sherlock had nothing to say to this, so he picked up his tea and continued to drink it in silence.  Only, the silence didn’t last long.  Without any warning there was a loud grumbling that shook the room causing the plates and cups on Hudders’ shelves to rattle. 

“Sounds like John’s awake” Hudders announced.  “Finish your tea and I’ll take you up.”

After all that it had taken to get to this point, Sherlock had no choice but to finish his tea.

 


	5. Chapter 4 - Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finally meets the dragon.
> 
> (Changes briefly into Johns POV, and then back to Sherlocks)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was meant to have more to it, but it was getting too long, so I have split it in two. That means the fic is now going to be 7 chapters long.   
> Sorry for the delay but ths part has been harder to write than I thought it would be!

~~~~~~~~~~

“John, dear.  I have a visitor for you.  Are you respectable.”  Hudders’ voice was rather loud for a creature of such a small size as she announced their arrival from halfway up the tunnel.

The response from the other end was another purring rumble.

“Now, now, don’t be like that” Hudders scolded.  “He seems rather lovely and not at all like those other lads who tried to poke you with their swords and spears.”

By the time Hudders had finished her rebuke, they had reached the end of the tunnel which opened up into an enormous cavern.  Inside the cavern flaming torches lined the walls, illuminating small mountains of gold and jewels and nestled in a valley of gold was a sight Sherlock had been waiting to see since he was four years old.  

There, between two mounds of treasure was a ball of red scales and sharp spikes, all folded up in two pale red wings.  

The dragon, John, had curled around itself, his tail swishing lazily in their direction, stopping anyone from getting too close, the sharp point at the end of the appendage a perfect incentive to stay back.

“Sulking doesn’t suit you, dear, now, uncurl yourself from that ball and make yourself presentable.  Sherlock has come a long way to meet you.  The least you can do is to tell him to leave yourself.  I’m your cave keeper, not your messenger lady” and she continued her stern mothering by flitting under the wing wrapped over his head and tugging at his ear until he had no choice but to come out of hiding.  
“Much better. Now, if you think you can behave in a cordial manner, I will be off.  I have biscuits to make.”

The room plunged into silence as the pixie flew off, muttering about bad manners and stubborn dragons, leaving the elf and the dragon studying each other.

Sherlock had never seen something so beautiful in his life.  The dragon was enormous.  Larger than any living thing he had ever seen.  His scales glinted red and black and rippled in the torch light, as the creature breathed.  The wing that had been previously wrapped over his head was now spread out above the dragon, while the other one, the left one, hung limply on the ground and that was when Sherlock noted the scar tissue that marred the otherwise flawless flesh.  But it wasn’t this that left the elf mesmerised.  That was the dragon's eyes.  Large and round and deep blue.  Once Sherlock looked into them, he couldn’t look away. 

~o~

John was instantly entranced by what he saw.  Well, almost instantly.  The second he had seen that Hudders had brought an elf into his lair (the traitor.  He would be having words with her later) he had bristled.  His dislike of elves had turned into a deep hatred after they had shot a hole through his wing.  For years it had been left torn and useless until he had met Hudders, who had done her best to stitch it up.  Now it wasn’t completely useless.  Nor was it completely useful, but one must be glad that they were alive if nothing else.

Once the shocked anger of finding an elf in his home had passed he actually took a good look at the creature before him and that was when he became entranced.  

The elf was tall, which wasn’t unusual for elves, but he was taller than the average elf, as he was more slender than the average elf.  His fingers were long as was his neck.  The man's face was framed by the softest looking curls John had ever seen, almost black, but not quite, tucked behind his pointed ears.  

His face was a work of art.  High, sharp cheekbones, defined mouth and slanted, vibrant green eyes.  John could look into those eyes all day. 

Slowly, still unsure of the elves motive for being here, John nudged his head forward and inhaled.  The elf smelled delicious.  Fresh earth, tobacco and Hudders’ rock cakes.  Letting curiosity get the better of him, John slipped his tongue out of his mouth and ran it across the elf’s forehead to see if he tasted as good as he smelt.  He didn’t.  He tasted better.

Pulling back, John sat back on his haunches and studied the elf before him, waiting for him to state his reason for seeking John out. Finally, he spoke.

“Would you rather I left?”  The elf’s voice was much deeper than John was expecting and John decided that he would like very much to hear it again.  He let out a huff through his nostrils.  The elf flinched.

“Is that a yes or a no?” The elf asked.

John shook his head. 

“Fine” the elf stated and then sat down and crossed his legs. 

Deciding that they weren’t going to get anywhere like this, John conceded that Hudders was right and he was going to have to make himself look more ‘ _respectable_ ’ as she liked to put it.

Tilting his head to the side, he let the bones in his neck crack, loosening him up for what was about to happen.  He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and concentrated hard.  With the sound of cracking bones, John felt his body change and move.  Limbs shrunk, skin tightened, bones rearranged themselves and most of his scales retracted back under his skin.  His jaw realigned and hair sprouted up through his skin.  When he opened his eyes, he looked more like the elf before him and less like the dragon he had been. 

“I am John” he announced to the elf who was unabashedly gawking at him.  “Now, would you mind telling me what the hell you are doing in my mountain?”

~o~

Sherlock couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  Nowhere, in all the texts he had read, was there any reference to dragons shape shifting.  It was unbelievable.  No longer was there a dragon before him.  Now there was something that resembled a part human part dragon.

There were two red horns sticking out from the golden brown hair that had grown on the dragon-mans head.  His ears still held that reptilian shape and his wings, now smaller, still expanded from his spine.  Skin had replaced most of his scales but a ring of shimmering red and black still encircled his upper arms and thighs. The top half of his body had taken on a gorgeous honey colour that blended into golden red further down his body and then there was the tail.

Just like the wings, the tail had shrunk to a proportionate size, but it still lashed out, back and forth, behind the stunningly naked dragon-man.  And naked he was and not the slightest bit ashamed of his nakedness.  Not that he had anything to be ashamed about.  Between his legs hung a rather heavy looking cock. Even flaccid, it was intimidating.  Red scaly ripples covered the length of the member, starting from the smooth rounded tip and darkening to an almost black as they reached the base.  It was longer than Sherlock's own penis and that was without being hard.

Realising that staring at another creatures genitals was probably not polite, despite how impressive they were, Sherlock quickly snapped his eyes back up to John's face, only to see a rather satisfied smirk spreading his lips.  Sherlock frowned.  He did not come here to become intimidated or mocked by the dragon. Nor was it to feel his insides twisting like a giddy youngling in their first foray into love.  So, pushing aside the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach,  Sherlock did what he was best at.  He insulted the dragon-man before him, in order to give himself the higher advantage.

Standing back up, Sherlock let a look of unimpressed indifference fall across his face.  “Is that seriously it?  I travelled all this way to find a ferocious, fire breathing dragon and what I find instead is something barely more than a human.” 

Sherlock spat the word _human_ out as if it were something nasty and disgusting.  Which wasn’t far off.  As a general rule, humans were only a small step above cattle.

This was obviously the wrong thing to say as, within seconds of the words leaving his mouth, John had crossed the distance between them and had Sherlock pushed up against the wall with one hand around his neck.

“Is that why you came here, _elf_?” John used the word elf as Sherlock had used the word human.  With hate and distaste. “To try and prove that you are better than me.  You forget who put an end to our fighting.  You forget that it was you who backed down out of fear of what I could do.  You forget who is stronger here.”  With each reminder, the grip on Sherlock's throat tightened and Sherlock was reminded that Johns claws hadn’t completely retracted when he transformed.

“So give me one good reason why I shouldn’t snap your neck right now and throw you to the wolves?”

Sherlock's eyes did a quick scan of all that he could see of John, which wasn’t much from this position.  His eyes fell on the damaged wing and the stories and songs he had heard growing up, returned to him.  This was the dragon that was supposedly killed over a hundred years ago.

“It was us that defeated you, I think you will find.”  The words came out gasped as the pressure on his throat was tight.

A dark chuckle left Johns mouth.  “Is that what they told you?” John asked, humour dancing in his eyes.  “Let me guess.  The elves said that their flaming spear brought down and killed the dragon.”

Sherlock didn’t need to answer.  The look on his face did that just fine.  Again, John laughed.  

“You really are a vain lot, aren’t you” he stated.  Sherlock stayed still and silent.  “Let me give you a little history lesson, elf” John sneered, his grip not loosening in the slightest.  Sherlock was starting to feel light headed.

“Your flaming spike did bring me down, but it didn’t kill me.  Nor did the crash to earth that rendered me unconscious.  The chains I woke up bound in, by your kind, did nothing to restrain me and rather than kill the lot of you, I made a bargain.  I told your army that if they left me in peace, I would let them leave and I would stop taking cattle from the local villages.  I made that bargain, and like the cowards they were, they didn’t even try to negotiate.  They just agreed and scuttled away. I kept my end of the bargain, just wanting a quiet life, but not even four moons ago a group of your kind found me at my lake and tried, once again, to kill me.  I would have laughed them away, but then they tried to take Hudders.  That I couldn’t abide so I made sure they wouldn’t come back.  I guess I should have killed them.  If they told you about me, then they would have told others, which means more are on their way.  How many?”

Sherlock tried to shake his head, but the grip on his throat tightened.  Very quickly, he was becoming light headed.  It wouldn’t be long before he passed out completely.  Just as his vision started to blur around the edges the pressure on his throat was gone and he sunk to the ground as oxygen flooded his lungs.

“Get out and tell your army that if I see even one of them, I will not only destroy them but the surrounding villages as well.  Now, leave.”

Sherlock coughed and drew in a deep lung full of air, massaging his throat and wincing as his hand brushed the sensitive areas where Johns claws had dug in.  Enough to bruise, but not enough to draw blood.

Eventually, he felt steady enough to stand up.  “Sherlock” he rasped out as he steadied himself on his legs.  “My name is Sherlock and I am here alone.  There is no army and no, I will not leave.”


	6. Chapter 5 - The Elf & The Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elf/Dragon Sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terribly, horribly sorry that this has taken so long to get up. I had started it and then came down with a terrible case of the flu and then spent the past few night going to bed before eight o'clock. But here it is, the next chapter. Hopefully it makes up for the long wait!

~~~~~~~~~~

John stopped walking away and turned back to face Sherlock.  There was a glint in his eye that hadn’t been there before.  It spoke of danger and it sent a thrill down Sherlock's spine.

“Tell me, _elf_ ” the word came out low and slow, John drawing out the final letter so it almost resembled a hiss.  “Why did you come here, if not to vanquish the beast in the mountain?”

John was close again, close enough that Sherlock could feel a heat coming off of his body.  A heat that hadn’t been there before.  It sent a wave of what Sherlock could only describe as lust, rolling through his body.  This dragon had pulled forward feelings he hadn’t acknowledged in a very long time.

“I am a ridiculous man” Sherlock stated, his voice smoother than he had hoped.  “And a curious one.  I came, against the wishes or advice of my people - people who told me you didn’t exist -  because I wanted to.  I wanted to see you.”

Sherlock watched as John's eyes raked down Sherlock's body and back up again.  “And, elf, do you like what you see?”

This time it was Sherlocks turn to look John up and down and he had to admit that, yes, he did indeed like what he saw, especially since the previously flaccid length between John's legs was starting to fill out.

Sherlock looked back up at John, staring him in the eye.  “I do.”

Within a heartbeat, John had Sherlock back up against the wall again, this time using his body to pin Sherlock in place.  His nose nestled in the juncture where shoulder met neck and he inhaled once more.  “Just how curious are you?”  He asked, a long claw toying with the neckline of his tunic.

“Very” Sherlock answered, his voice no longer as steady as he hoped.  

That one word seemed to be all the permission John needed and within seconds, the front of the tunic was torn open, from neckline to hem and John was pushing it off of Sherlock's shoulders, his cloak following, as his long tongue mapped Sherlock's neck.

“John” Sherlock gasped and he felt his body reacting to Johns ministrations. 

“Still unimpressed, elf?” John asked as his hand moved down to the waist of Sherlock's breeches.

“Quite the opposite” Sherlock gasped, still managing to sound haughty as the dragon-man toyed with the laces holding the trousers up.

“You can back out anytime you like.”  The words were whispered against Sherlock's cheek, as the hand at his waist dipped down and rubbed over his growing prick.  “But keep in mind, should you wish to proceed, that once I have had you, I get to keep you.”

Sherlock couldn’t have kept the moan in if he had tried, and he most certainly didn’t try, as the feelings in his stomach, that had developed earlier in their meeting, intensified.  The thought of this creature having him and owning him was more than he could have dreamed of and without another word, Sherlock reached down and pulled the laces that were holding his breeches together.

“Good choice” John purred and it wasn’t long before his trousers met the same fate as his tunic.

Sherlock pulled in a deep stuttering breath as Johns hand wrapped around his prick, the tips of his claws lightly pressing into the underside of the flesh as his grasp tightened, just marginally.  Despite the fact that the danger of having something so sharp near something so delicate, intensified the feelings that were now running riot through Sherlock's body, he wasn’t too keen on the idea of John using them to prepare him. 

The problem briefly left his mind as Johns tongue moved from his neck and travelled further down his chest.  It came back when he felt John’s prick nudge up against the top of his thigh. 

“I don’t have anything” Sherlock gasped, unable to articulate anything further as Johns' tongue laved at his nipple.  Thankfully, despite his lack of words, John seemed to know what he was talking about and in response, John grabbed Sherlock's hand and guided it down to his cock. Sherlock was surprised to feel a slick oil coating his palm as his fingers wrapped around the textured length.  He pulled his hand away and looked down at the one part of John Sherlock had refused to look at since John had started reducing him to a boneless puddle.  From underneath the soft scales that covered the length from tip to base, a clear oil could be seen, slowly oozing out.

“Self-lubricating” Sherlock awed as he brought his hand up to his face and being an elf of a curious nature, he placed one of his fingers in his mouth.  He couldn’t be sure whose moan was louder.  John’s as he watched Sherlock suck the lubricant off of his finger or himself as he a sweet spice taste bloomed on his tongue.

“You should really hurry up, elf.  I’m not going to last much longer if you keep that up” John purred.

Reluctantly, Sherlock pulled his finger out of his mouth, but he was more than pleased with the sound that rumbled from John’s throat as he wrapped his hand back around the dragon's length, covering his fingers in the oil.

“Now” John moaned, guiding Sherlock's hand behind him, and Sherlock took the hint and started preparing himself to be fucked by John.

Sherlock was keenly aware of John's eyes on him as he worked himself open, first with one finger, then two, the dragons lubricant making it easy, allowing for quick work.  As he worked in the third finger, John surprised him by sliding his cock between Sherlock's legs, rubbing up against his perineum.  The unexpected movement caused Sherlock to jump, not much, but enough to push his fingers up, swiping over a small lump that sent shivers of pleasure all through his body.

“I’m ready,” he said, his voice wrecked.

John pulled on Sherlock's arms and positioned them so they sat on Johns shoulders, long fingers linking behind his neck.  “Hold on,” he said with a rather salacious smirk and before Sherlock could ask why he needed to hold on, John had lifted him up by the back of the thighs.  Sherlock had no choice but to wrap his legs around Johns waist.  The movement brought their bodies closer together with Johns cock sliding beneath Sherlocks body, nudging at his hole.

Sherlock closed his eyes as he enjoyed the feeling of John rubbing up against him, back and forth, just a small tease, then, without any warning, John pushed in and didn’t stop until Sherlock was fully mounted on his cock.  His long, thick cock.

A gasped moan left Sherlocks mouth as he felt himself stretch, too fast, to accommodate John, but once John slid all the way in, he stopped, just holding Sherlock close, allowing him time to adjust.

Sherlock rested his head against Johns shoulder, drawing comfort from the warmth the dragon-mans skin seemed to emit and almost instantly he felt Johns tongue tracing a wet path along his shoulder and up his neck.  

“You are mine now, elf” John whispered and, without any warning once again, he started moving, pulling out of Sherlock and thrusting back in.  The burning stretch didn’t last long and soon all Sherlock could feel was John moving inside of him, the scales that covered his length, soft enough to not cause any discomfort, but firm enough to allow for a wonderful friction that Sherlock had never experienced before. 

Sherlocks grip around Johns neck tightened, as did the grip his thighs had on Johns waist.  Small, hard puffs of air were forced through Sherlocks lips, every time John thrust forward, the action also providing friction to his own length, trapped between their bodies.  

“Fuck, you feel good, elf” John growled, the sound sending a shiver up Sherlock’s spine.   He couldn’t reply with anything beyond “ _Hnnng_.”  This brought a very satisfied look to John’s face.

Johns grip on Sherlock tightened as he tipped Sherlock back, just slightly, altering the angle into which he thrust into Sherlocks body.  The results were marvellous.  On every inwards push, John managed to hit Sherlock in just the right spot that caused him to cry out on every thrust as pleasure pulsed through his body, setting his skin tingling.  

Unfortunately, this new angle meant that, despite feeling fantastic, there was nothing for his own cock to rub against.  Sherlock could feel tension building up inside of him, waiting to be released, if only he could get something to rub up against his erection, which was bouncing back and forth with everyone of Johns thrusts.  He attempted to let go of John’s neck with one hand, but the snarl that John sent him had him clamping his hand back down immediately. 

“Please…” he managed to huff out between breaths, but John either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him.

It was about then that John’s thrusts started to become more erratic.  Sherlock tightened his grip; his hands, his legs, his arse, and held on as John pounded into him, his own grip tightening on Sherlocks thighs hard enough that Sherlock could feel the tips of his claws digging in to the point where they almost pierced the skin.  He couldn’t have cared less.  The heat coming off of Johns body now was almost unbearable, but Sherlock p.  He just wanted release.  Not only that he wanted John’s release.  He wanted to see the dragon come, hear him roar in satisfaction, feel him deep inside.  He wanted to know that he had done to John, what John was doing to him and he didn’t have to wait long.  

The heat coming off of Johns body now was almost unbearable, but Sherlock ignored the fact.  He just wanted release.  Not only that he wanted John’s release.  He wanted to see the dragon come, hear him roar in satisfaction, feel him deep inside.  He wanted to know that he had done to John, what John was doing to him and he didn’t have to wait long.  

Half a dozen thrusts later and Johns grip tightened even more and his body became rigid.  As he came, John threw his head back.  “ _Sherlock_ ” he cried, the name echoing loud in the chamber they were in.  It was the first time he had uttered Sherlocks name and Sherlock didn’t think he had ever heard it sound better than when it came out of Johns mouth.

John pulled Sherlock close to his body as a few more thrusts emptied him completely, the movements of their bodies pushing against his length causing a small whimper to leave Sherlocks mouth.  Before Sherlock could even think about touching himself, John pulled out of Sherlock and practically dropped him to the ground.  Sherlock wanted to cry out in protest, as the feel of gold coins dug into his skin, at being cast away, but John quickly followed him down.  

“I generally despise the taste of elves,” John said, his voice deeper and huskier than normal.  “But you, Sherlock, are a delightful exception” and without another word, John’s mouth had fully engulfed Sherlocks prick.

“Oh, John” Sherlock called out, half in surprise, the rest in pleasure.  Johns mouth was warm and tight and his tongue knew exactly how to drive Sherlock crazy.  Without thought, Sherlocks hands clasped onto the back of John’s head and he didn’t let go, his fingers twisting into the short strands as the tension in his body grew.  Noises, that Sherlock never knew he could make, were leaving his mouth as John sucked and licked and pulled his lips over his length and in no time at all, Sherlock was bucking up, spilling his seed into John’s mouth with a hoarse cry.

Sherlock was vaguely aware of John sliding up next to him and pulling him into his arms once more.  The sound of rustling wings and a sudden comforting warmth told him that John had folded them both up inside of his wings.  As a general rule, Sherlock didn’t like being confined but this was different.  This was John, so he allowed himself to be wrapped up in John, feeling more content than he had ever felt before, and closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.


	7. From the Aftermath to Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and they all lived happily ever after...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so terribly sorry. I'm a horrible person for leaving the end of this story for almost a month. It has been bedlam here with work and funerals and what not. Once again, I offer you apologies and hugs and a final chapter to wrap this story up. 
> 
> And, just incase you have forgotten, this story was inspired by some wonderful artwork by kjanddean and if you haven't checked it out yet, please do so at http://archiveofourown.org/works/9991997.
> 
> Thank you all to those who have read this and of those who will read this. Your comments and kudos' and general support have been truly wonderful. Hugs to you all.
> 
> NTW

~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock ran his hand over the damage on Johns wing, curious as to how it would feel.  He didn’t miss the way the wing shivered, just slightly.  

They were lying on the grass outside of Johns mountain, enjoying the sunshine for the first time in four days.  It would have been longer but Hudders had finally entered their cave and told them that she needed a break from all the noise they were making.  That and it was apparently starting to smell in the cave.  

“How damaged is it?”  Sherlock asked, his finger skirting around the jagged wound.  He had tried to bring it up once before, but John had turned back into a dragon and refused to talk to him.  The result had been some very interesting sex requiring some very creative manoeuvres so Sherlock couldn’t say he was at all sorry.  But he was still curious.

There was silence for a few heartbeats before John answered.  “I can fly, but not high or far.”

Sherlock let his fingers trail to the centre of Johns spine where they slid over skin, down to the base of Johns tail.  “The elves were not aware of that when you made the bargain, were they?”

John shook his head.  “No, they were under the impression that it would heal.  If they had bothered to do any research at all, they would know that Dragons do not have magical healing capabilities.  It is why our scales act as armour.”

Sherlocks fingers trailed lower to the loose trousers that John wore, designed especially by Hudders so John could wander around in his semi-human form while still being decent.  Sherlock, after four days of wearing absolutely nothing, had hoped that his days of wearing breeches (or any article of clothing, for that matter) were over, but Hudders had told them both, rather sternly, that at her time of life, having two young men wander about in nothing was just not decent, so after much moaning and groaning (and not of the good sort either) they had conceded to put their trousers on, if nothing else, while they ventured outside.

“It seems Hudders is rather occupied inside” Sherlock noted, just a bit too casually, even for his ears.  “I don’t suppose we could remove these and…”

Sherlock was cut off by John sitting up suddenly, a look of unease and concentration on his face as he cocked his head to the side.

“What?” Sherlock asked, also sitting up and that was when he heard it.  A group of people, heading their way.

“You told me, no one was coming” John snarled, suddenly turning on Sherlock, his face morphed into one of pure disgust.

“I promise, John.  I have no idea who that is” Sherlock replied in defence.  It was true.  Lestrade had told him he would have an entire month before they came looking for him and Sherlock had planned to have word sent back to Bakeris well and truly by then.  He had just been a bit preoccupied with other… activities up until now.

As the sound of the group moving, not as quietly as they were probably hoping, forward, John sniffed the air.  His look of disgust turned to one of fury.  “Elves” he hissed and before Sherlock had a chance to react, John was changing back into his dragon form.

“John” Sherlock tried to ease, getting to his feet and stepping back as Johns limbs elongated and his body stretched and distorted into a very un-john like shape.  The sound of bones cracking and muscles stretching filled the air before all went quiet, the sound of Johns heavy breathing the only thing to be heard.

“John” Sherlock repeated and reached up to stroke Johns neck, a move he knew John delighted in, only this time, John pulled away.

“I promise, John.  I had nothing to do with this” Sherlock pleaded.  “I’ll make it better, I’ll send them away.”

Just then, the sound of soft footfalls broke through into the clearing and Sherlock turned to see a group of elves, weapons in hand, standing amongst the trees, lining the clearing.  At the front of the group was none other than Lestrade, looking sheepish and Mycroft, his mouth gaping as he stared at the creature behind Sherlock.

“Leave, now” Sherlock commanded, taking long strides towards the small army.  By the time he had reached Lestrade, no-one had moved.  “You told me twenty-eight days, Lestrade.  It has only been seven.”  His voice was low, but still clear enough to carry.

“Yeah, well” Lestrade muttered, rubbing his hand awkwardly across the nape of his neck.  “You mother came home early and, well, she’s your mother, you know what she’s like.  Once she heard about your little adventure...”

Sherlock let out a hiss of displeasure before turning to his brother.  “Still bending to mummy’s will, I see, _Mycroft._ ” 

Mycroft was still staring at John, who had now taken on a defensive stance and looked like he was about to pounce on the lot of them. 

“It’s a dragon” Mycroft managed to finally get out. 

“Yes, well done Mycroft.  I see your powers of observation are in fine form.”

“Just stand still, Sherlock.  We will deal with the beast”  Mycroft cautioned slowly and Sherlock saw him raise his hand, to signal the army behind him to attack.

If Sherlock hadn’t been so angry, he would have laughed at their chances, but this was not a laughing matter.  It was a severe inconvenience and was putting all involved in a very bad mood and a bad mood was not going to prove beneficial for him in any way.  The snarl and stream of smoke that John was emitting was further proof of this.

“You will do no such thing” Sherlock intoned, grabbing Mycroft’s wrist, stopping him from signalling the order to attack.

The look of utter stupefaction finally melted off of Mycroft's face and he turned to look at Sherlock, a look of irritation replacing it.  

“Sherlock, there is threat standing no less….”

“The only threat here arrived a few moments ago.  I have been with the dragon for four days now, and no harm has come to me.  You will leave here, and leave the dragon in peace, and tell no-one of what you have seen, do you understand?”

“He has placed you under a spell” Mycroft stated, his eyes narrowing at Sherlock. 

A scoff pushed itself through Sherlocks lips.  “Are you listening to yourself, brother?  There is no spell, there is no danger.  There never has been.  This dragon has been living under this mountain for over a hundred years.  The worst he has done is taken a few pieces of cattle.  

“It is a dragon, Sherlock” Mycroft argued and Sherlock rolled his eyes.  

“Yes, Mycroft, we have already established that John is a dragon.”

“John?”  It was Lestrade who had spoken up this time.

“Yes, that is his name.”

“How can a dragon have a name.  It can’t talk.”  This one was from Anderson.  It was met with another low growl from John and a look of utter desperation from Sherlock.

“Shut up Anderson, you are lowering the intelligence of the entire shire” and with that he turned back to Lestrade and Mycroft.

“Yes, _his_ name is John, and I know this because _he_ told me.  We are both happy living here, alone and without any further interruptions.  Give mummy my love and tell her I will visit at spring harvest, thank you and goodbye.”

He gave the two men an encouraging nudge, but neither budged.  Mycroft was looking at him as if he had finally gone mad and Lestrade was looking thoughtfully at John.  A look back at John saw that John was looking thoughtfully back at Lestrade.

A ball of something uncomfortable and antsy was starting to develop in Sherlocks abdomen as he watched a small smile spread over Lestrade’s mouth.  “Go find your own dragon, Lestrade” Sherlock scowled. 

Lestrade finally turned from studying John, to study Sherlock and his grin grew.  “No need to be jealous” he said, his grin growing wider at Sherlocks deepening scowl.

“What do you mean, Jealous?” Came Mycroft’s voice, his usual haughtiness making an appearance.  A look of realisation then dawned on his face and an unimpressed frown, one that would make their mother proud, formed across his brow.  “With me, now” he ordered and grabbed Sherlock by the arm and started pulling him towards the mouth of the cave.  

They didn’t get too far before a large, red, scaly creature was blocking their path, a low, constant rumbling sounding from deep inside his belly.

“Never mind, John” Sherlock reassured, reaching up to stroke John’s neck with the hand not in Mycrofts grasp.  He was relieved to see that John didn’t pull away this time.  “He’s just going in to give me a telling off.  We shan’t be long.”

John seemed to consider Mycroft for a moment with narrowed eyes and then, deciding that Mycroft was no threat, he plonked himself down, resting his head on his front paws, leaving the two elves to walk around him in order to reach the privacy of the mountain.

“What on earth do you think you are up to, Sherlock?” Mycroft hissed as soon as they were shielded from the prying eyes of a very gossiping army.  “Forming physical attachments with a beast.”

At this, Sherlock snatched his arm away from Mycroft and pulled himself up to his full height, glaring at his brother.  “If you and your ‘people’ had bothered to do proper research, you would know that John, as are all dragons, is more than just _a beast_.  You would have known that not only do they prefer to live in peace and are of no threat unless being threatened themselves, but that they can also change appearance.”

It took a few seconds but Sherlock saw the moment that Mycroft drew the dots together.  “He is a shape shifter” he stated, more than just a bit of curiosity tinting his tone. 

“Loosely speaking, yes.  He has two forms.  The dragon” Sherlock gestured towards the opening of the cave, where the dragon was probably eyeing off every single elf who dared step past the tree line.  “And a human form.  Both are equally as impressive, and beautiful and if you think, that after all this time of wanting to find a dragon of my own, that I am going to to just up and leave now, then you are not as intelligent as we all thought you were.”

Mycroft looked from where the tip of John’s tail could be seen swishing in front of the cave opening and then to Sherlock.

“But, what do I tell Mummy?” he asked, swallowing the lump Sherlock knew had formed in his throat.  Sherlock knew that feeling well. Mummy was a very formidable creature, more so than a dragon, especially when things don’t go the way she planned.

“Tell her, that I have found a mate, and, as I mentioned earlier, I will be back at spring harvest.”

Mycroft inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly.  Sherlock knew he had won.  There was no way Mummy was going to pull one of her sons away from a mate, especially since she had given up hope of either of them finding one.  She was too much of a romantic.

“I shall send a group with your belongings and don’t actually expect Mummy to wait until spring to see you again.  I expect she shall be planning a trip here as soon as she hears of it all.”

Sherlock cringed, but pushed the issue of his parents visiting aside as something to deal with at a later date.  “And I can have your word that there will be no more elves wishing to seek out John in order to harm?”

“I will make it so, I promise.”

Sherlock was satisfied.  If Mycroft gave his word then it was a sealed deal.  Regardless of having a royal family, no one had more sway of Londone, than Mycroft.  

“Thank you” Sherlock offered and together, the two of them made their way back outside.

~o~

It had taken until the sun was setting before the elves had moved on and finally, John and Sherlock were alone.  Since that time, they had made up for the misunderstanding and the inconvenience of being disturbed and scandalised Hudders at least twice.

“ _Pants.  That is all I ask for when outside the cave_ ” was all that could be heard form the pixie, the last time they had seen her flitting away.

Now the two of them were laying together, under the starlight, in a tangled, sweaty, sticky mess.

“Mummy will want to meet you” Sherlock advised John, miserably.  “She will come and she will stay and I will have to wear, not only trousers, but also a tunic, the entire time.

A satisfied rumble rolled through John’s body and Sherlock revelled in the warmth that was coming off of Johns skin.  “I’m sure your parents are fine” John replied, sleepily.

“You met Mycroft” Sherlock scoffed.  “They are worse than him.”

A lazy chuckle escaped Johns mouth.  “Trust me, come autumn and you won’t think they are so bad.”

“Autumn?  Why autumn?”

“You know the brewery, out by the Barrel Lands?”

Sherlocks face scrunched up in distaste.  The entire town were drunkards and blaggards.  “I have heard tales, yes.”

John let out another chuckle before continuing.  “Well, in the underground caves on the outskirts of the town lives a great big green dragon, going by the name of Harry and once a year she decides to sober up and visit her brother, usually at the beginning of Autumn.  If you think your family is bad, wait until you meet mine.”

“There are more of you?” Sherlock asked, trying to sit up, curiosity taking over, but John tightened his arm across Sherlocks shoulders, holding Sherlock against his chest, not allowing him to move.

“There are loads of us, if you know where to look” John informed him.  “But remember, you are mine, Sherlock.  You can’t have another dragon.”

Sherlock relaxed against Johns side and reassuringly placed his hand on Johns hip.  “I would never want another dragon, John.  Only you.”

This seemed to appease John as his grip lessened and a soft, satisfied rumbling filled the night air and that was where the two of them started the rest of their long life together, under the stars at the base of Bartholomew Mountain, wrapped in each others arms.


End file.
